


Good at Something

by wonderluck



Category: Bound (1996)
Genre: F/F, Post-Canon, Tattoos, semi-public
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 10:30:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21372688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonderluck/pseuds/wonderluck
Summary: Corky and Violet and a brand new truck.
Relationships: Corky/Violet (Bound)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31
Collections: Femslash Exchange 2019





	Good at Something

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IdMonster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdMonster/gifts).

Corky and Violet drive west. They don't talk about it, Corky just heads west on the interstate, toward the sun, toward opportunity. Corky wants to take Violet somewhere expansive, somewhere safe where they can disappear.

Corky glances at Violet. She's unmoving, wearing her oversized sunglasses with lenses so dark that she could be sleeping and Corky wouldn't know. Violet turns toward Corky. The wind blows through her hair on one side, and she looks the part of a glamorous victor during a getaway, the Bonnie to Corky's Clyde.

“What do you want to do with your half?” Violet asks as they cross the county line. Her voice is raised just enough for Corky to hear her over the road noise.

“So eager,” Corky says with a sideways smile. She can tell Violet is still caught up in the thrill of getting away with all of it. Violet is thrumming with the energy of a woman who has won.

Violet leans closer and runs her fingers through the hair at the nape of Corky’s neck. “I don’t like to wait if I don’t have to.”

A small shudder runs through Corky and she leans back into Violet's hand. "Hmm... Not sure yet. Maybe start a business? Something legit so I don't have to deal with cops."

"A business," Violet states flatly.

"Is that too boring?"

Violet shakes her head. "I'm just surprised. I thought for sure you'd say a motorcycle."

"That's on the short list, too," Corky says because _of course_ she wants a motorcycle. Violet on the back clinging to her around the middle, leading Dykes on Bikes at Pride — it’d be beautiful. She almost gets lost in the possibilities, but she can feel Violet looking at her expectantly. "What about you?"

Violet can’t contain her excitement. "I want to travel, but I want to take language classes so I can talk to people. Wouldn't it be wonderful to go somewhere warm and tropical? We could own one of those little bungalows with the stilts in the water.”

Corky nods. "Yeah, I like it. Is that where you want to live? Abroad? Or should we use the States as home base?" Corky asks, flipping on her turn signal and changing lanes.

Violet opens her mouth to answer, but closes it again. She looks forward to the road ahead. "Mickey will expect me to leave the country if he figures out what we did." She rolls up her window. "_When_ he figures it out, more likely," she finishes.

Corky reaches for Violet's hand and gives it a squeeze. "Chin up, Violet. We did a thorough job. I think the most we have to worry about is my parole officer and I can handle that."

Violet smiles at Corky, a small, nervous smile, the one Violet conjures up when she’s worried but trying. She squeezes Corky's hand in return. "You’re probably right."

Corky is surprised by Violet’s mood after her steadfast confidence in their getaway. But Mickey is a reality they can’t ignore. They need time, Corky thinks. Time and distance. "We'll be okay, Violet. We'll get new identities, disappear. We could have the same last name, if you want. I have a cousin in Nebraska that could help us out."

"Is that where you're from?” Violet asks, genuinely curious, and her mood seems to improve.

Corky realizes they haven't had time to learn the basics about each other, the stuff you’d put in a dating profile in the back pages, but Violet doesn’t feel like a stranger. There wasn't time to ask about her hometown between quick trysts and scheming and careful execution. 

Corky shakes her head. "Yeah, through high school, anyway. Then-"

"Wait. Let me guess," Violet says, interrupting her and turning in her seat to face Corky. "New York. You'd want a gritty, big city after all that farmland."

Corky nods. "Landed in Queens."

Violet visibly relaxes as she settles in to cast her predictions. "I'll bet you lost your virginity in New York. Maybe one month in. I'll bet the ladies fell hard for you." Violet smiles knowingly.

Corky cocks her head to one side and ponders. "I think it was closer to two months."

Violet presses her lips together. She looks pleased with herself. 

Corky glances over at her. "Now you. Where are you from?"

"You don't want to guess?"

Corky laughs softly. "I'm a terrible guesser. That's your thing."

Violet relents. "Chicago suburb," she says. "I never got far from home, but I wanted to. I'll spare you my tragic backstory. I'm sure you have one too."

Corky nods. "And virginity? Not that it matters, but you know mine now, so…"

"It's only fair," Violet says and runs a hand through her hair. "Junior year of high school. The girls' swim team captain."

"You knew that early?"

Violet sits up taller. "I told you, I know what I am."

"Come on," Corky says. She gives her a pleading look. "I wasn't questioning you like that."

Violet softens. “So what do you like to do when you're not pulling off jobs and getting the girl?"

Corky gives her a sly grin. "What's better than that?" When Violet doesn't respond, she sighs. "Music. Reading — mostly history. I read a lot of Old West stuff in prison."

"That seems fitting." Violet pauses. "I've got it... Jessie."

"What?"

"Your new name. Jessie. Like Jesse James." 

Corky leans back in her seat and takes it in. "I like that, yeah." She loses herself in thought, wondering if she could get away with James as her last name. "What about you? You already have your name picked out?"

"Of course."

"And?"

"Iris," Violet says, like it was obvious.

"Iris," Corky repeats.

Violet nods. "Yeah."

Corky points toward an approaching exit ramp. "You thirsty… Iris?"

Violet gives her a look that sends a rush of heat through her. "Always."

\---

They clear the state line before they break for a proper meal. Everyone at the truck stop is halfway out the door when they come in. Semi trucks rumble through the parking lot and the sound dampens as the glass door swings shut behind Corky. 

They are two black-clad silhouettes in a sea of orange vinyl seats and men in blue jeans. A few heads turn toward them, toward Violet as her heels click along the tile floor. Corky catches their gazes. She tilts her chin up slightly, daring them to say something. 

A tired-looking waitress appears with plastic menus. She has a ketchup stain on her white apron. Corky is tempted to check her own fingernails to see if the blood has finally faded from her cuticles. 

"Can we get a corner booth, maybe near the back?" Corky asks. 

They settle into their booth and Corky keeps watch until the stares subside.

Corky is content with her meal, but Violet relishes it. “Caesar didn’t let me eat what I wanted,” Violet says as she picks up another fry from Corky's plate. “Maybe I just wanted pancakes once in a while.”

Corky looks confused. “I thought you got out regularly?” 

Violet began to narrow her eyes, and Corky held up a hand in surrender.

“Not that that’s enough, that that was okay. But why didn’t you get the pancakes?”

Violet presses her lips into a mischievous smile. “I had... other tastes to take care of.”

Corky nods, leaning back in her seat. “Mmm. I’d have done the same.”

“How many women have you been with?” Violet asks.

“Does it matter?”

Violet shrugs. “Not really. Just curious.”

Corky sighs, adding numbers in her head. “20 maybe?” 

Violet smiles at her.

"What," Corky asks. "You can beat that?"

Violet takes a bite of her pancakes and reaches for her coffee.

Corky leans forward in the booth, eyes bright. "You _can_." She gives her a sideways grin. "You're full of surprises, aren't you?"

As Corky finishes her plate, Violet reaches for her hand. 

"Let's stop in Vegas," she says, and there's a gleeful look in her eye.

"Definitely," Corky says.

Violet digs through her purse for her wallet. “Should we get a tattoo?”

Corky watches Violet pull out a few bills and she still can’t figure out how Caesar got them so clean. “Is that what people do in Vegas? I thought it was gambling and shows and stuff." Corky pauses. "Like a matching tattoo?”

“Not necessarily."

Corky nods. “We are going to kick up some shit in Vegas.”

\---

Their days consist of the sweet hum of the truck's engine peppered with ringing mini-mart doorbells. More marginal coffee, more sugar, an attempt at protein, before they cover sufficient enough ground to call it a night. 

Corky is content to chauffeur Violet across the country, but Violet sees better at night. Violet makes driving in stilettos look easy.

For the most part, they sleep in run-down motels with what seem like tissue paper walls. A couple of times, they stop at a nice place — Corky insisted — where the sheets are smooth, the pillows plentiful, and the wallpaper expensive. These places still have the same bones as the cheap motels: thin walls, loud doors, necessary double bed situations. 

"You don't want to get a single bed this time?" Violet asks as they pull into a parking lot before midnight.

Corky shakes her head. "People with money aren't any less bigoted than the rest of them."

They don't let the lack of soundproofing deter them from losing themselves in each other. 

Violet had only questioned it once, in their first motel, when Corky had her pinned to the bed, licking a line up from her collarbone toward her ear. Violet had tried to stay quiet, but Corky's thigh was pressed just so, and Violet couldn't help herself.

"Corky," she gasped. "The neighbors."

Corky propped herself up on one elbow. "Hmm. Should I turn on the TV?" 

Violet nodded. 

Corky reached for the remote control and switched on the television. She hit the volume button until sound filled the room.

"Good?" Corky asked. 

"Yes," Violet said as she settled back against the pillows.

"Good," Corky said, voice low. 

The television blared out a nature documentary as Corky kissed her way down Violet's body. Violet's hands tangled in the sheets as Corky lowered her head between Violet's thighs. She would take her time, and Violet would forget about the neighbors. 

Corky pressed kisses between Violet's shoulder blades to the sound of ridiculous, squawking birds, and they fell into shared laughter. 

Corky finally switched off the TV when Violet lay gasping with a satisfied glow. Even the hard mattress couldn't keep them from sleeping soundly that night.

\---

Vegas is bright and garish. There are tigers, half-naked women in feathers, obscene amounts of money, and Corky thinks it's marvelous. Violet has a knack for cards and Corky likes to watch. Her pokerface is unshakeable — after all, she slapped a man while he pointed a gun at her heart — and it's a thing of beauty to see her pick apart player after player.

That she makes them nervous is a gross understatement. They loosen their ties and squint at their cards, and only Corky sees the delighted glint in Violet's eye when another man folds. When she wins, she rakes in the chips with both hands.

It takes another half day to find a suitable shop in Vegas. Violet chooses Corky's tattoo. She asks the tattoo artist for a piece of tracing paper and presses half-parted lips to it, leaving a perfect imprint of her dark lipstick. Corky gives her a lazy sideways grin.

"It's like you knew just what I wanted," Corky says.

Violet smooths her lipstick with her forefinger and holds Corky's gaze. "Where do you want it?" she asks in that whispery, suggestive tone that makes Corky warm all over.

Corky's eyes slide to one side as she ponders the permanence of Violet's lips on her skin. She leans up and slides out of her leather jacket. She moves the strap of her black tank top to one side, pointing to a spot just below her collarbone. "Here."

Violet smiles approvingly and hands the paper to the tattoo artist.

The hum of the tattoo gun is jarring in the cramped shop. Corky is very butch about the whole process but there is a moment where her eyes go wide, hands gripping the arms of the chair like she'll tear the fabric right off. Violet sits beside her and strokes her arm. 

"What about mine? What should I get?" Violet asks. 

"A bird,” Corky says and gazes up at Violet from her reclined chair. “A little sparrow, flying free.”

Violet picks up Corky's hand and kisses her palm gently, then intertwines their fingers. 

\---

Corky rolls a quarter across her knuckles: the divot between pinky and ring finger, ring and middle, middle and forefinger, catching the quarter with the side of her thumb. Back and forth she flips the coin. Violet watches, enraptured. 

They're in a bar in some mid-size town. Corky catches Violet's eye and gives her a small smile. She is waiting for the line at the bar to ease up so she can get Violet a drink. 

Violet leans close. "I like watching you."

Corky's smile turns into something more, her eyes half-closed as she sizes Violet up. "Oh yeah?"

Violet's teeth catch at her bottom lip. She's working all of her tricks that make Corky's blood race through her veins. "You're so… good with your hands." Her hand slides onto Corky's thigh beneath the table, high. 

Corky's pupils dilate. She's so easy and she knows it, and Violet knows it, and she doesn't care. She whisks Violet off to the bathroom and barely latches the door before Violet crashes into her, her mouth full of the taste of Violet's lipstick. Her hands are in Violet's hair, pulling back to worship her neck, rake her teeth along the juncture of neck and shoulder, and Violet's hands make quick work of her belt. 

Corky gasps as Violet pushes her hand into her underwear. Violet is inside her quickly, no hesitation from her girl, and Corky's hand slaps over the metal divider to hold herself upright. Violet slides her thigh between Corky's and sets a steady pace. Corky's belt buckle tinkles, the metal of the stall creaks, but they are blissfully alone. Violet pushes Corky's leather jacket aside to cover Corky's breast with her hand, fingernail against her nipple like she knows Corky likes. Corky hisses and bucks her hips against Violet's hand.

The door to the bathroom swings open, allowing the sounds of the bar outside — chatter, glasses clinking, the occasional punctuation of laughter — and footsteps shuffling in. Violet leans closer, her eyes full of mischief.

"Can you be quiet, Corky?" Violet's whispered breath is hot beside her ear. "Or should we give her a show?" She adds another finger and Corky's knees nearly give out. Her mouth drops open in a silent cry. Corky pants quietly, clawing at Violet's back beneath her jacket, fingers slipping over satin. 

The person beside them finishes and exits the stall. The taps squeak on as Violet's thumb works it's magic between Corky's thighs. Corky reaches above her to grab onto the stall door with both hands. She pants openly as Violet's hand reaches behind Corky to push her forward faster, and she's surrounded by Violet, as if Violet controls her body entirely, and damn if Corky doesn't like the thought of that. She can feel Violet against every inch of her — her heat, her curves — and Corky can't do anything but work her hips against Violet's hand, lace her fingers together behind Violet's neck and hold on. As she begins to shake and exhale harshly through clenched teeth, the water switches off and Violet covers her mouth in a deep kiss. Corky moans.

The other inhabitant of the restroom pauses before grabbing a few paper towels and then the door swings open again to greet them with more bar sounds. Sweat gathers on Corky's brow as Violet releases her mouth to let her groan at full volume, and the unseen woman laughs softly before the door swings shut and Corky comes with a cry that reverberates off the tile walls.

She's still breathless and unfocused when Violet's face swims into view. 

"Ready?" Violet asks as her hand finds the door latch.

Corky smirks at her and sinks bonelessly to her knees. "Not yet," she says, low and honey-like as she pushes up Violet's skirt. Violet moans and grips Corky's shoulders like a lifeline.

\---

They decide to buy a bar. Corky concedes that Violet is the better liar, so when they offer to pay cash for a dive bar just outside Portland, Oregon, Violet does the talking.

"You see my uncle didn’t trust anyone. He didn't believe in banks," Violet tells the seller. She doesn't bother cooking up a better excuse because the man has an easy smile and has regaled them with stories of the bar's heyday. "But you can't imagine how surprised I was when he left me this," she says as she tidies the pile of cash on the table in the empty bar.

They choose a space that needs work to appear less suspicious, but Corky is 95% sure it’s because Violet loves watching Corky work with her hands. 

They kick around names for the bar — some bad, some… less bad. Naming the bar proves to be the hardest part of starting a business.

Corky starts. "Lavender Menace."

"_Violet_ Menace."

"Nice," Corky says. "How about… Ladies First."

"Bad Alibi."

"The Usual."

"Jessie's Girl."

"Mmm." Corky gives her a cocky grin. "Girl Next Door."

Violet nods and scribbles the names on a cocktail napkin. "It's a start." 

Violet chooses the floor layout and the glassware, applies for permits, and buys the furnishings. Corky takes care of the liquor and sound system and digs in on the remodel. They split tasks evenly, work late nights, get their hands dirty. Violet is a quick study at handiwork, but she prefers to let Corky swing the hammer. 

Violet plans a wild opening night. Corky practices mixing drinks until she can do it half-asleep. 

"Gin Rickey," Violet fires off as she stocks a cabinet.

Corky springs into action like it’s a busy Friday night. She fills a glass with ice, reaches for a bottle, lime, then the soda gun. With a triumphant swagger, she offers the drink to Violet.

Violet takes a sip of the drink and catches Corky's chin in her other hand. "Good," she says and kisses Corky slowly. Corky likes the cold contrast and punch of lime on Violet’s tongue. "Now a Sidecar.”

"Oooh," Corky says. She swipes at her bottom lip with her thumb. "Hmm…"

She mixes the drink and pours with a flourish because Violet likes it when she's showy. Violet sips the drink with a hum of approval and sets it down.

"Want to give me another one?" Corky asks.

Violet pulls Corky toward her by her belt. "Why don't we pick this up tomorrow?" Violet says. "I have other ideas." She turns and leads Corky through a door and toward the stairs to their top floor apartment.

"Whatever you say, Violet," Corky answers and follows her.

Everything is almost perfect. Violet still gets paranoid if a black car hangs around too long, and Corky sometimes smells gunpowder in her dreams. But they’re getting closer to peace. It’s a new feeling for them, a welcome feeling, and Corky can't ask for better than that.


End file.
